Arcove flexed his claws. “I think not. From what Halvery says, they were highland curbs. They’ve been declining for years. I doubt we’ll see them in this part of the island much longer no matter what happens.” He glanced at Halvery. “You can count yourself lucky for that. If they had been lowland curbs, we might have seen repercussions.”
“I find it difficult to consider any of that lucky,” muttered Halvery.
Treace uncurled with a yawn. “I still think we are trying to solve this problem the wrong way. Storm’s tongue is sharper than his teeth. We can send a few cats to chase him and continue the raids. Prolong the killing. Take some of the newborn foals. Punish the herd. Either they will kill Storm themselves, or he will see the futility of his actions and cease.”
Arcove waved his tail. “This problem is more complex than raids and dead ferryshaft, Treace. We are not fighting an individual so much as an idea—the idea that ferryshaft can oppose creasia without reprisal. We have to punish the lawbreaker, not the obedient. If we try to make the ferryshaft our enforcers, we will lose our hold on them. I would be surprised if some of them have not begun to break our rules already. If we appear to have despaired of catching Storm, it will only make them bolder, and our culls will spur further rebellion instead of quelling it.”
“Then let them rebel,” said Treace. He dared a challenging look at Arcove. “And, when they do, destroy every last one of them.”
The other members of the council glanced uneasily at each other. Treace smiled. “I understand. No one wants to take responsibility for eradicating another intelligent species—loathsome pest though that species may be. I accept that responsibility. Send me and my clutter, Arcove. We will do this task for you, and then the council need never trouble itself over this matter again.”
Arcove blinked.
Before he could speak, Roup said, “That sounds reasonable—”
Arcove shot him a warning look. “How many cats were you planning to take for this exercise?” he asked Treace.
Treace looked surprised. “A large raiding party. Perhaps thirty?”
Arcove chuffed. “You’d never come back. And we’d be at open war.”
Treace sputtered, but Sharmel cut in. “Old ferryshaft allies might make an appearance as well.”
“And if they did…” murmured Ariand, and shivered.
“In addition,” continued Arcove, “if we break our word to the ferryshaft, we’d have difficulty making meaningful agreements with any intelligent species on the island. It would be a generation or more before anyone would trust the word of a cat.”
Treace’s lip curled. “You can’t be serious! One raiding party is more than enough to destroy the ferryshaft herd. They don’t know how to fight—!”
“They haven’t the will to fight,” growled Halvery, “but some still know how.”
“Their alliances,” continued Treace, “are dead. Fifteen years dead! No one would come to rescue them. Also, they have broken the treaty.” He looked hard at Arcove. “Surely, sir, you could argue as much before any delegate from another species.”
“Possibly,” said Arcove, “although such an extreme response would stretch the terms of the treaty and certainly damage our reputation. If I did go to eradicate the ferryshaft, I would take half of Leeshwood. And I would go myself. One does not delegate such a task. Were you ever to lead Leeshwood, I hope you would do the same.”
An awkward silence followed.
Arcove spoke again, his voice level. “We must kill Storm without making him into a martyr. We must show the Ferryshaft that we have outwitted their hero.”
Halvery’s mouth twitched. “I guess that means it’s Roup’s turn. Unless he’s exempt.”
Roup said nothing. His eyes flicked at Arcove.
“Roup will hunt Storm next.” Arcove’s voice brooked no argument.
Halvery’s mood seemed to be improving. “Don’t look so gloomy, Roup. We all know you’ve been wanting to meet the little pest. You can have a nice chat, perhaps hunt rabbits together, spend a day at the seaside…”
Roup’s tail lashed. “Oh, but you already went swimming with him, Halvery.”
Halvery’s mouth snapped shut, and there was a ripple of poorly-disguised laughter from the others. As the meeting broke up, Arcove glanced at Roup and gave a flick of his head. With a sigh, Roup followed him away from the meeting.
* * * *
Storm crawled from the Igby River muddy, bruised, and bleeding. He hadn’t been in the water for long, but he’d still been carried quite a distance. He felt weak and disoriented. Storm clambered quickly into a tree, leaving very little in the way of a scent trail. He hoped that the creasia were too busy worrying about Halvery to track him. He slept most of the next day in the tree, and by evening he was sure they were gone.
Storm spent another day hiding and nursing his wounds before he attempted the long trek back to the herd. He found them migrating towards the spring feeding grounds, away from the Igby. He made no special effort to contact anyone. His friends had been mostly ignoring him, and he did not know where they were sleeping.
Sauny found him on the first night and told him that she’d been “practicing running” and finding hiding places in the boulder mazes. She renewed her request that he teach her to run on the cliffs. Storm felt uneasy, but agreed to take her up the next day. “Do not tell your father,” he warned.
Sauny laughed. “I live with my clique, Storm. I don’t even see Dover that often.”
“Well, don’t tell your clique, either.”
Very late that night, he was dimly aware of someone lying down beside him. In his half-asleep state, Storm thought it must be Tollee and leaned gratefully into her warmth. When he finally woke late in the morning, he was shocked to see Valla nestled against him.
Storm stared at her. “Valla? Why—?”
She looked at him and tried to smile. “Callaris…” She began and tried again. “The creasia…”
Storm remembered the three ferryshaft that Halvery’s clutter had separated from the herd. He remembered the screams as he started away. I didn’t even look at them.
His throat closed. “Who else?” he managed.
Valla shook her head. “Nobody I knew.”
“I’m so sorry.” Storm didn’t know what else to say. He wondered whether she blamed him. He felt irrationally guilty.
Valla’s soft, brown eyes were not accusatory, only sad.
“You’ll have no trouble finding a new mate,” said Storm quickly. It sounded cruel, even as he said it.
Valla looked away. “I know. But I don’t want to right now. Can I…can I sleep near you for a while? Everyone else from our old clique is busy with new mates.”
That gave Storm a pang as he thought of Mylo and Tollee. He looked at Valla again and gave her a sympathetic lick on the top of the head. “Alright.”
* * * *
Arcove did not say a word until they had reached his own personal territory. Even then, he waited until they reached the cover of a hot spring before he turned to glare at Roup.
“‘That sounds reasonable’?” The words were clipped and furious.
Roup drew a deep breath.
Before he could say anything, Arcove continued. “Roup, I do not expect you to back everything I say in council. You speak your mind, and I’ve always valued that, but I do not expect you to deliberately undermine me, either, and encouraging Treace to go get himself killed while destroying the credibility of our council is deliberately undermining me!”
Roup turned his head to one side and hunkered down a little. “I did not consider the effect on our reputation. You’re right about that. However, I would like Treace to go get himself killed.”
Arcove growled.
Roup maintained his submissive stance, but did not back away. “Arcove, he thinks that if he eradicates the ferryshaft, he will gain the support of the majority of Leeshwood—because he solved a problem you couldn’t solve. He thinks you are too stupid to see this.”
Arcove’s growl died. He was still for a moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded tired. “As I’ve said, I could kill him in a fight. It will be decades yet before he could win. By the time that happens…maybe he will have learned to rule.”
Oh, Arcove. You think he’s like you…when you were that age and sat on the council and were so frustrated with the older cats. But he’s not. He’s not like you at all.
Roup raised his eyes. “Arcove, do you know why Coden died?”
It was not at all what his friend had expected. Arcove cocked his head and said nothing.
Roup continued. “He died because he expected everyone to behave honorably.”
Arcove had the grace to look uncomfortable. Roup spoke again. “If Treace does not have the support of Leeshwood and he ambushes you with twenty other cats some quiet afternoon, the assembly will kill him because he did not win the position fairly. But if he has their support, if they believe that he would make a better king… Well, then, he may not fight fairly, and they may pretend not to see. Treace knows this. He knows it very well, and he sees an opportunity in this situation with the ferryshaft.”
Arcove considered this, the steam from the hot spring curling around him. His posture relaxed a little. Finally, he said, with a trace of humor. “I suppose you’d better kill Storm, then.”
Roup wrinkled his nose. You would bring it around to that.
“You are going, aren’t you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Have I ever forced you to go on a raid?”
“Ah! Well, then, I’ll be staying here. Let Halvery have another go. You know he wants to.”
Arcove sighed. “Your making light of Halvery’s misfortune does not improve his opinion of you.”
“We both know he has never had an improved opinion of me.”
Arcove lashed his tail. “Roup, if you don’t go, it’ll be all the excuse he needs to challenge you. No matter who wins, I lose.”
Roup opened his mouth, but Arcove continued. “Let’s assume for a moment that you win…and that you don’t die of your wounds. Do you want to lead Halvery’s clutter?”
Roup shut his mouth.
“They’re the best fighters in Leeshwood,” said Arcove. “They’re also an unruly bunch who respect a sharp claw and a swift slap. Halvery keeps them in line. Would you? They won’t follow Sharmel; he’s too old. Would you rather they go to Ariand…or Treace?” When Roup said nothing more, Arcove added, “Halvery is a good lieutenant and a loyal officer. I wish the two of you would get along, but fifteen years of peace haven’t mellowed either of you.”
“I’ll hunt Storm,” said Roup quietly.
He must have sounded too dismal, because Arcove looked almost sorry. “There’s no shame in not catching him. No one else has.”
Roup laughed. He lifted his head and shook the condensation from his whiskers. “You’re suggesting I just run him around a bit, and then leave him for you to deal with? No, Arcove. If I go to hunt, then I will hunt.”
Chapter 15. Questions in the Dark
Valla slept beside Storm that night and for many nights after. Every day, he told himself that he should make her leave. And every day, he never quite got around to it. In appearance, Valla was as different from Tollee as any ferryshaft could be. She was a creamy buff color, and her fur was longer than average. It feathered prettily around her legs, and it had a silky sheen. Her ears were small and perfect—not a single nick or ragged edge. Her muzzle was un-scarred, her teeth unbroken. Valla was not the sort of female who fought with males. She was the sort of female whom males fought over.
She was also a year younger than Storm and would need help surviving the next two winters. The best thing that could happen to her, Storm told himself, would be acceptance by one of the female cliques. Unfortunately for Valla, she was more attractive than useful. She’d always been an indifferent hunter, and Storm suspected that the female cliques were unimpressed by a pretty face alone.
Still, for the spring, at least, no one needed a hunting partner. During the day, Valla sometimes foraged with Storm, although she just as often disappeared. Every evening, when he settled down to sleep, Storm expected that she would be gone—snapped up by a rogan or a female clique. And, every day, Valla would find him, usually after dark, and settle down beside him for the night.
He’d even caught her talking to Sauny. Valla was just as close in age to Sauny as to himself, and she might reasonably have approached Sauny’s clique for acceptance. However, she seemed more interested in friendship with his sister than in trying to join her group.
Storm had begun teaching Sauny about the sheep trails. He took her out very early in the morning—from the time the sun first peeked over the horizon until it was fully up—when few ferryshaft were awake. He refused to take her out at any other time. He expected her to get tired of waking so early and frustrated with their brief sessions, but she did not. In fact, she quickly gained enough skill to begin practicing on her own. Storm felt a mixture of pride and anxiety over her performances. However, he told himself that at least she had a way to escape in the event of danger.
Danger that will probably arise because of me, he admitted.
Storm gave himself some time to recover from his swim in the Igby before seeking out Kelsy. It wasn’t difficult to locate him, but it proved very difficult to catch him alone. Kelsy was constantly in the company of other high-ranking ferryshaft. Although Storm had no reason to think he would be unwelcome, he felt shy about approaching them.
Kelsy solved the problem himself by approaching Storm late in the afternoon beside a clear spring stream. “Is there any particular reason you’re isolating yourself?”
Storm glanced at him and snorted. “You did that.”
“Did I?” Kelsy bent his head to drink.
Storm felt like kicking him. Instead, he said, “You destroyed my clique.”
Kelsy sighed. “I didn’t know Mylo would react that way.”
Storm said nothing.
Kelsy tried again. “You seem to be doing well. You’ve got an attractive mate, you flout the creasia, and your friends still seem reasonably friendly.”
Storm turned in surprise. “Attractive mate?”
“Well…yes. That fluffy little female who follows you around. She appears to be yours.”
Storm scowled. “She’s not mine. She’s from my clique. Her rogan was killed during the last creasia raid. She’s just sleeping near me because she’s lonely.”
Kelsy’s laugh rang against the rocks.
Storm didn’t like being laughed at. He turned to leave.
Kelsy trotted after him. “Wait! Please, wait. I forget that you’re only three years old. This female has obviously chosen you as her mate. Accept it, and be happy.”
Storm sputtered. “Kelsy, I’m good at running away, not fighting. The first ferryshaft who challenges me over Valla will win.”
Kelsy fell into step beside him. “I don’t think anyone will challenge you. They’re in awe of you, and many of them owe you their lives. But in case someone does, I’d be happy to teach you to fight. I can’t teach you anything about running, but I could teach you some things about fighting.”
Storm turned to him suspiciously. “You just want to be seen talking to me, because then other ferryshaft will think I support you.”
Kelsy cocked his head. “Do you not support me?”
“About splitting the herd?”
“About getting away from the cats. About ending the raids forever.”
Storm hesitated. Tollee’s words rang in his head. “If you encourage them, and if you’re wrong…”
“At least hear what I have to say about fighting,” said Kelsy. “If you think that’ll give me too much status, we can meet secretly.”
I’m already doing too many things in secret. “My little sister,” he heard himself say, “will you teach her, too?”
Kelsy looked surprised. “I suppose. What’s her na—”
“Go
od,” interrupted Storm. “Meet us by this stream tomorrow just before sunrise.” He smiled. “You might learn a few things, too.”
That evening, Storm did not return to his accustomed spot to sleep. Instead, he found a little hollow beneath a rock, well away from other ferryshaft, and made himself comfortable. He wanted time to think. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him that others thought Valla was his mate. She knows she’s not. I know she’s not. What else matters?
Tollee. The thought came unbidden. What must she think?
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. She’s made her choice.
Storm allowed himself to consider the possibility that Valla did want to be his mate. It was foolishness, of course. Some large, aggressive male like Callaris would claim her by fall. And, anyway, she did not want him. Still… He thought of her soft, brown eyes, always fixed so earnestly on his face whenever he spoke. He thought of her downy fur, her warmth pressed against him at night, the way she’d washed his face after he’d saved them all from the creasia the first time. He thought…
And then something enormous fell on him from above.
Storm tried to bolt to his feet, but they were pinned beneath him. He turned his head to snap, but there was suddenly great pressure against the back of his skull, forcing his chin to the ground. He could feel the points of contact against his head. He knew, in a flash of despair, that they were teeth, and that the jaws were too wide for a ferryshaft or a curb. A creasia was sitting directly on top of him, and it had his skull in its mouth. He wondered if he would even have time to feel his death. He tried to buck again and found that he could not move at all. His breath came short and quick through his nose. He was ashamed of the little whimper that escaped through his teeth as the cat shifted its weight, and he felt the prick of its claws against his back.
To his horror, a paw came down over his face, the claws a carelessly splayed crescent across his nose. What is it going to do to me? The pressure against the back of his skull loosened, but Storm dared not lift his head. One of the claws was directly over his left eye.
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